ROMANCE AND DRAMA 



IN THE 



Valley of Sunshine 

Bein^ a Story of 

OLD PALMDALE 



vVa^ . - ^ (PiiXcv^-v^-x. 



Copyrighted 1914 

By PALMDALE FRUITLAND COMPANY 
LOS ANGELES. CAL. 






Dedicated to 

THE ANTELOPE VALLEY 

By 
W. C. P. 



JAN 26 1914 

if^\n\ A Q c B A J. 1 



ROMANCE AND DRAMA 

In the 

Valley of SunsKine 

BEING A STORY OF 

OLD PALMDALE 



In tKe King,dom of the Sun 

(Antelope and Victor Valleys) 

^SHV ROM the hour the world was done, 
Wig In the Kingdom of the Sun 
m^ Ruled a monarch on a throne — 

^^^ Since our human race begun. 

He has ruled there all alone. 

Upon his kingdom all the day. 
He smiles a broad benignant ray, 
That warms it through the night — 
To purling water melts away, 
The snow upon its height. 

This monarch hung his glaring throne, 
High o'er the crest of rough Tejon, 
Since cycles ending never; 
Then flinging far his shaft of light. 

Thy sands lay warm beneath its flight 

Mojave's gleaming river! 

Toward the red Land of Manana 
Thence he drove the tramontana, 

Mists like those of high Ben Nevis 

But he left the "Santa Ana," 
In the vale of Chimahuevis, 
Left old Boreas with his bellows, 
In the vale of Los Gaceles. 

In this land of Los Gaceles 
Regnant sunshine and good fellows. 
Mankind, smiling dov^n his fears. 
Never ages, only mellows. 
Through the passing of the years. 

Therefore all who love the sunlight. 
All who love the mellow moonlight, 
And the friendly gleaming starlight, 
Homes await you every one, 
In our Kingdom of the Sun. 



TKe Valley of SunsKine 

PART ONE 

^%^ANY years ago, in the old Mormon settle- 
■ 1^ nient of San Bernardino, there lived a phy- 
^^^ sician — Dr. Wozencraft. He was known as 
a dreamer, even as, before him, Christopher 
Columbus was a dreamer. But for Dr. Wozencraft 
there was no Isabella; so he got no farther with his 
dream than in his mind's eye to have pictured the 
chocolate waters of the Colorado river painting green 
the gray Colorado desert. 

People laughed at him and his dream — until death 
ended both the dreamer and the unkind laughter — 
and only a few of the "old timers" of San Bernar- 
dino and of Riverside, now remember the man and 
his mania. But when a generation of years had 
turned the good old Doctor into dust and his memory 
into mist, the new race produced new dreamers, and 
they did the very thing in which he failed to interest 
the men of his day — they turned the chocolate waters 
of the Colorado river onto the gray Colorado desert 
until no longer it was a desert, but it became the green 
Imperial valley instead. The world knows the rest, 
but not many know of the dead dreamer and his disap- 
pointment — and the romance of justice had been re- 
alized were the name, now Imperial, spelled Wozen- 
craft. 

And this Imperial valley — 13 years ago it was the 
scorn of the "tenderfoot," the malediction of the pros- 
pector, and the doubt of the old timer. Then the 
waters were turned in from the Colorado river, and 
after a little while the government of the United 
States, in the person of men of book learning, con- 
demned the Imperial valley project as an alkali 
delusion. The next year the government softened the 
condemnation; and within ten years afterwards the 
state of California annihilated it by establishing there 
a new county, that now has a population of 30,000, 
and is one of the heaviest contributors to the commer- 
cial welfare of Los Angeles. 



In southern California there is another land, known 
as the Mojave desert, greater even than the Colorado. 
Over its weary length and through its Valley of Death 
for over half a century has wound the "Mormon 
trail," ending in the valley of the Santa Ana, at 
San Bernardino. Stretching from another great 
stream of the desert, the Mojave river, and extending 
westwardly to the Coast Range mountains at the Tejon 
pass, lies that other great valley likewise until now so 
little known or understood — Antelope valley. And 
also it has had its dreamers, and these too, awak- 
ened in disappointment. But as these dreamers still 
are with us in this land of little better than dreams at 
best, we should not thrust upon them by name the 
embarrassment of notoriety. Twenty or thirty years 
ago they laid foundations so well that others now 
in our days are building upon them — are dreaming 
the same dreams — and now you who read are to be 
witnesses to an awakening like that on which shines 
the risen sun of — Imperial valley. 

And out of this past of the Antelope valley has 
come Lancaster, and Littlerock and Palmdale. Lan- 
caster lies in the dairying section of the valley, and in 
their own way and time its people will write its story. 
Littlerock and Palmdale are the cream of the fruit 
section ; and the past and present of each are so 
interwoven that their stories run together in the nar- 
rative. 



The Valley of Sunshine 

PART TWO 

How many who look upon the great mountain wall 
just beyond Pasadena, know what lies behind it? 
From the level of the Pacific ocean about 30 miles 
away, this Sierra Madre range rises two miles straight 
to Heaven. To reach the other side we go by South- 
ern Pacific railway up Soledad (solitude) canyon, 
starting from Los Angeles at about 250 feet of alti- 
tude. In some three hours we have climbed to the 
summit at Vincent, 3,2 1 feet up in the air. Then 
for about six miles we descend to the foothill slope of 
the northerly side of the gigantic Sierra Madre. Here, 



at 2,657 feet of altitude we are out of the mountains 
at the gateway of — Antelope valley: for that is what 
lies over the mountain wall from Pasadena. And the 
gateway is Palmdale. 

But this grim mountain wall behind Pasadena is 
not all there is to the Sierra Madre range. Behind 
this frontal barrier are heathery spurs, gaunt ridges, 
and noble peaks; wild canyons, boisterous streams 
and low forests — and these extend for two days* weary 
travel of man-a-foot, some forty miles of winding 
course. And the way of man between and over these 
superb eminences is sprinkled here and there with deer, 
mountain lions, lynx, wild cats, flying squirrels, 
mountain quail — and many other denizens of the 
Kingdom of the Wild. 

As from Palmdale we strain our poor human eyes 
over the vastness of the 640,000 acres of valley below 
and around us, few of us of today know what close 
companions here have been romance and tragedy. 
Along this foothill region — 60 miles of it from east 
to west — in earlier times ran the old Fort Tejon stage 
line from San Bernardino to the Government fort in 
the renowned Tejon pass; thence onward to Bakers- 
field, and by relays to Yerba Buena — the place that 
is now called San Francisco. And in the early sev- 
enties of the last century, over this road where the 
plains and mountains meet, from Elizabeth lake to 
Big Rock creek, the notorious bandit, Vasquez, and 
his bloody lieutenant, Chaves, dodged the sheriffs of 
five counties. Here, in those days antelopes were as 
common as are cattle today; and bears prowled down 
from the mountains. 

Beginning 30 years ago settlers came to these vast 
plains of yucca palms, bunch grass, and gray sage 
brush. That was before the day of the gasoline 
engine and pumping plant. The hand dug wells wat- 
ered the mouth of the settler, but gave him no crops — 
and soon the settler surrendered these gray acres back 
to the jack rabbit and the lean coyote. 

But the beautiful springtime streams of Littlerock 
creek and El Rio del Llano — the river of the plain — 
(now Big Rock creek), tempted the pioneer to another 
trial, some 23 years ago. 

At Littlerock, on the east bank of the creek, an 
irrigation district was formed under the Wright Act, 



and some 2,000 acres were planted to almonds and 
prunes — the fortunes of the planters were staked on 
the venture. If it should fail, so should they. Al- 
monds were selected because they, and olives as well, 
are found growing native and wild in those foothills — 
and nowhere else in North America. 

But these domestic trees bloomed too early in such 
a high altitude, and the cold lingered too late, so that 
in every two years out of three the blossoms were 
frozen and the trees bore no crops. And again these 
other pioneers gave back to the jack rabbit and the 
coyote this ancient gray estate of their kind, which 
man so little understood. 

But doubtless man might have kept on trying had 
not the discouragement of water litigation arisen about 
this time ; and, also, but worse than that, and greatest 
shadow of all those that ever fell over these sweeping 
acres, was the litigation that started then between 
the government and the Southern Pacific; and this 
raged for 20 years with unusual bitterness. Before 
the war the government had granted each alternate 
section of these lands in aid of building the Pacific 
railways, and now sought to reclaim them as not 
having come under the terms of the grant. And 
only in February of 1912 was the litiga- 
tion settled in favor of the Southern Pacific by the 
supreme court of the United States, which nearly 24 
years previously had taken this land away from the 
railroad company, and had given it to the govern- 
ment — and now at last it is open again to the ventures 
of man. 

But here it should be observed that the Antelope 
valley is not a poor man's land. During the time 
of its early settlement many of those who could not 
pay so high a price as that obtaining on the coast, made 
the mistake of going into the Antelope valley where 
the settler who must improve from the ground up — 
clear, plow, set out trees or alfalfa and water them 
with the aid of a deep well and pumping plant — 
ought to have a cash capital of at least $3,000 
after buying his land. But these people did not 
know this. They found it out a little later on, and 
soon the rabbits and coyotes resumed possession. And 
still later they were followed away by most of those 
at Littlerock who had misplanted prunes and almonds. 



A little before this the settlement at "old Palmdale ' 
had lost its water rights at law with Littlerock, and 
these settlers also drifted away. 

Those who had bought from the railroad company 
found the government claiming their lands. While 
others who undertook to settle on government land 
were told that the railroad company claimed it. And 
all of these gave up in disgust — so that for 20 years 
it seemed an interdict of man and Nature had flung 
its blighting shadow over the valley. 

Those who, from one of these causes or other, 
had been forced out, carried with them unpleasant 
memories of the place of their loss. Now, when 
we consider that "the bad we do lives after us, but 
the good is oft interred with our bones" — that the 
rattlesnake strikes in fury at the stick that wounds 
him, and not at the hand that wields the stick — we 
cannot wonder that disappointed man gave no good 
repute to a land that, not understanding, he had 
misused. He tried to grow prunes and almonds that 
nature never intended should grow in those altitudes; 
he tried to wish water up from the ground, or down 
from the heavens, without the aid of deep wells and 
pumping plants, or large storage reservoirs; he found 
he could neither borrow on, nor sell, lands claimed 
both by the government and the railroad company, 
and neither of whom could give him title for over 
20 years. And all of these had been enough to 
drive Adam and Eve from even the garden of Eden 
without the aid of a fierce angel with a flaming 
sword. 

While this dissertation mainly pertains to the south 
foothill belt — where lie Palmdale and Littlerock — 
and Big rock, yet another neighborly reference to 
the middle belt — the "Langster" country — may not 
be out of place. Those who must grow alfalfa with 
which to fill either cattle or box cars — should go to 
the Lancaster country. There live the real "punkin 
time" farmers, who have a monopoly of the dairying 
business. One advertising genius has called this sec- 
tion "the milk bottle of Los Angeles" ; some day it 
will be the "chicken coop" and the "meat shop" as 
well. But as elsewhere, those who would make a 
success here must take thrift and brains along with 
dollars. 



But now narrowing our story down to Palmdale 
and Littlerock — a few of the old settlers stayed behind 
at the latter place, and grinned and bore it. Before 
he had fled from impending starvation, someone at 
Littlerock had planted a few pear and apple trees, 
about an acre — doubtless working at it amid the 
scornful laughter of his neighbor over the fence who 
was planting prunes and almonds. But in due time 
these few trees of pears and apples began to bear 
under the care of the several families who remained 
behind. But how, for so long, they kept the secret 
we shall presently refer to, seems rather strange, for it 
is known that there were women folks among them. 
However, finally in 1 909 it got out that the pear 
trees planted I 7 years before had been giving enor- 
mous returns, and in that year had yielded at the rate 
of $2,000 an acre, gross. But the cat once out of 
the bag, soon it became a matter of general knowledge 
in that region that the 6 year old pear and apple 
orchards began their production by paying expenses 
in the fifth year and thereafter yearly increasing to 
$100. $200, $800 and as high as $2,000 per acre, 
as above stated. We are told that recently there was 
a refusal of $750 an acre for a 7 year old pear 
orchard at Littlerock; and that two sales were made 
at $1,000 and $1,100 per acre, respectively, for 
older trees. But at Littlerock the land is limited by 
a water supply that cannot cover more than 3,000 
acres within the irrigation district — but for those acres 
there is an abundance. These orchards at Littlerock 
are a wonderful sight of green leaves and luscious 
fruit, amid the vastness of ashen gray sage, and 
ghostly yucca palms. Littlerock gets its water from 
the creek at the place where old Vasquez had his 
camp 40 years ago. 

The Palmdale country begins on the westerly 
side of the creek, and continues thence to the railroad, 
eight miles away; and the water likewise comes from 
Littlerock creek, for Littlerock and the new Palmdale 
by contract have apportioned the waters of the creek 
between them according to their just rights — and there 
is an abundance for both. 

Now we turn to Palmdale. When, some 1 5 or 
20 years ago, the jack rabbits and the coyotes along 
the foothill slopes got back their land, Palmdale had 



a depot and some new board houses — and hopes. But 
soon the two former alone held out. Sometime later 
the "Big Horn" mine, 30 miles away, hauled its 
ore to Palmdale for shipment. This gave the place 
a new stable and bunk house. Then two mills were 
erected to grind gypsum mined in the neighboring 
hills — several more wooden buildings. 

Pretty soon the gypsum beds petered out, and the 
mills shut down — but here Littlerock and its pear and 
apple crops stepped into the breach, and averted an- 
other period of stagnation — for, the year after the mills 
had closed, Littlerock shipped from the weather-worn 
depot at Palmdale, 26 car loads of fruit, mostly pears. 



TKe Valley of Sunshine 

PART THREE 

After others had blazed the trail and shown the 
way, the outside discovery respecting pear profits, 
begot a situation as exciting, almost, to the few who 
know, as the discovery of gold. And capital, which 
usually deals in proven ground, concluded that what 
Littlerock could do and be, on one side of the creek, 
Palmdale could duplicate on the other. And so 
capital got to work to prove its faith by its perform- 
ance. In Littlerock creek it built a re-inforced canal, 
sufficient in size to carry out 1 0,000 inches of water. 
This leads out of the creek bed to the mesa above. 
From there, by tunnels, flumes and earthwork, the 
water was carried eight miles westerly to an old lake 
at Alpine or Harold — a spot in which for ages, lake 
and dry lake bed had alternated. 

The ancient lake bed was filled to a depth of 21 
feet — in 1913. At its best depth it has a capacity 
of about 5500 acre feet, sufficient for 5000 acres 
of orchard land. This storage is to be supplemented 
by several reservoirs in the canyon, with an additional 
capacity of upward of 7000 acre feet. The surveys 
and estimates for these have been under way for 
some time, and now are about completed, including 
a contour survey of all the lands about Palmdale to 
be irrigated from a proposed concrete distributing 



system — the first section of which will cover some 
2500 acres. 

A pumping plant was installed at Palmdale, which 
supplies an abundance of excellent water for domes- 
tic purposes, from a depth of 400 feet. Cement 
sidewalks were laid, street trees set out, and about 
150 acres of pear and apple trees planted — in the 
late spring of 1913. And these improvements are a 
strange contrast to the still standing shanties of the 
old Palmdale of Vasquez, of the pioneers, and of the 
mining days — for the old times and their mementoes 
die hard, after all. But hardest of all at Palmdale to 
die, was the long-eared jack rabbit. Part of the new 
orchards were rabbit fenced against the hunger of 
this lean depredator. But the few orchards that 
were left unprotected quickly had to be put under 
fence, and now must grow their leafy tops all over 
again. But the plantings turned out a complete suc- 
cess, so that today the traveller, in the Palmdale of 
now, may see Littlerock as it started out years ago ; 
and in the Littlerock of today, he may see Palmdale 
as it will be 5 and 6 years hence — a beautiful vision 
of broad green orchards of pear and apple trees, 
where even now the tourist, whizzing by in a passenger 
train, looks and wonders a brief moment at the dust 
gray acres of sage, at the threatening aspect of the 
wierd and wraithy yucca palms, and at the few 
weather and time beaten houses of Palmdale— but 
now a little wider-eyed still, at the audacity that has 
put here cement sidewalks, street trees and orchards. 
And maybe this same tourist knows nothing better 
at home than timothy and corn and hogs, at $ 1 5 per 
acre per year. And in ignorant superiority he takes 
a fleeting and contemptuous glance toward the Little- 
rock of today in the dim distance, or at the Little- 
rock of tomorrow — there at Palmdale, with orchards 
in being and in prospect from which a fortune will 
come every bearing year, — a fortune that tourist may 
never know. 

Forty years ago, upon plains that bear a remark- 
able likeness to these of Palmdale, a set of dreamers 
started a colony called Riverside — its purpose was 
to produce silk. But things did not go well in silk, 
and various experiments were made, until, pretty much 
by chance, as pears and apples were started at Little- 



rock, some one put out orange trees. About this 
time a traveling correspondent of a San Francisco 
newspaper came along, and wrote to his paper that 
on the wind-swept plains westerly from the Santa Ana 
river, a parcel of deluded tenderfeet from the East 
were trying to found a colony; and a note of pity — 
the presumptuous pity of superior ignorance — sounded 
through his narrative. Then he went his way and 
forgot these poor fools. And others who read what 
he had written, pitied a moment, and then hunted up 
the latest reports from the Comstock gambling dens. 
And even the good old Mormon neighbors across the 
river at San Bernardino looked over toward the Jurupa 
plains in pity at this Riverside, and expected soon to 
have to build a poor house. But the people of 
Riverside were men of the type that fought the civil 
war — and even though at times the sticking was hard, 
they stuck. And today Riverside is without a rival 
as the most beautiful spot created by the hand and 
brain of man. And yet its original purpose failed, for 
its silk culture had passed away from among the 
dreams of men; and law suits over land titles and 
water rights nearly wrecked it several times — just as 
the almond and prune colony of Littlerock failed. 
And Riverside, otherwise modified, may live its days 
over again in the Palmdale of a few years hence. 

In the early days of Imperial there were wiseacres 
who stood off at a distance, and struck a pose and 
expression first of scorn, then of amusement — of wise 
doubt — of masked interest; then came the gradually 
unbending in stealthy looks; and in eavesdropping for 
pointers. Then the wiseacres could stand it no 
longer, but broke and ran for Imperial valley — but, 
thank Heaven ! they got there too late. Men who knew 
already were on the ground, and the wiseacres paid 
their price. So that presumptuous ignorance is costly 
after all. But this tribe of wiseacres never dies out, 
and today they who never have seen it, know more 
about the Antelope valley than does the Almighty 
who shaped it; than do the people of Littlerock, who 
adorned and redeemed it; more than the people of 
Palmdale and Lancaster, who are making it great; 
more than all of these together, who here are laying 
out a future county, whose orchards promise more 
than do the gardens of Hesperides on the coastward 



slope of the Sierra Madre. But although the wise- 
acre finally made a costly landing amid the homes 
of the Imperial valley, there is no such place of re- 
pose for him in the Antelope valley, for the people 
there are too busy with their improvements, to afford 
time to protect him from the jack rabbits which, be- 
ing fenced out of the orchards, must feed on some- 
thing. 

In the summertime the climate is like that of the 
San Fernando valley. During a day of unusual heat 
in Los Angeles in 1913, the thermometer recorded 
108 degrees and 109 degrees on the tops of high 
buildings, and as high as I 1 2 degrees on the streets. 
At Palmdale the thermometer recorded 1 1 degrees. 

The very dry atmosphere prevailing in those alti- 
tudes — from 2300 feet in the lowest places in the 
valley to 10,080 feet on "Old Baldy" — enable men 
to endure the hottest summer days without discom- 
fort. 

In the afternoon a pleasant breeze blows gently 
over the south foothill region from the westerly lying 
Coast Range mountains, doubtless coming from the 
ocean just beyond. 

The same winds prevail in the valley as are typical 
of the "plains" throughout the world — the same as 
swept over the Riverside and Corona mesas before 
they were grown up to orchards — not as bad, in our 
opinion, as those which even now are found in season 
in many parts of the south side of the monutains in 
Los Angeles and San Bernardino counties. In other 
words: we have the usual seasonal winds that prevail 
throughout Southern California — but these are noticed 
less where the orchards have grown into effective wind 
breaks. 

In the winter time the valley has cold weather. 
Snow has been known to cover the entire area from 
the Sierra Madres to the Tehachapis. That is why 
the region is unexcelled in Southern California for the 
production of pears and apples. 

Generally, however, the snowfall is confined to the, 
nearby mountains. Here is where the valley gets its 
water. It is too cold for citrus fruits — oftentimes the 
thermometer going down to 20 degrees and sometimes 
to and below 1 5 degrees. But it is not usual for it 
to go below 20 degrees. 



On account of the high, dry climate, many per- 
sons resort to the valley for ailments of the lungs and 
throat — consumption, asthma, catarrh, and the like — '■ 
and even rheumatism. These are said to derive dis- 
tinctive benefit. And why not — it is no colder here 
— it is less cold — than similar altitudes in Colorado 
and New Mexico to which the ailing resort for relief 
and cure. 



The Valley of Sunshine 

PART FOUR 

In five years from the present, December, 1913, 
if the valley shall make the progress it has made within 
the last two years, it is certain that this vast plateau 
will be ready for a separate county government, whose 
area will probably extend from the Tejon pass on 
the west to the Mojave river on the east, and, even, to 
the Colorado river ; and from the Sierra Madre moun- 
tains on the south to the Tehachapi range and the 
Inyo county line on the north. This would put the 
entire "desert country" into one county, a region which 
now has an approximate population of 8,000 people. 
This is more than Inyo county has at present, and 
more, also, than had twelve other California counties 
in 1900. 

At the present time, this area, more than anything 
else lacks capital for its development. Now the 
tendency is for capital to seek investment in the city. 
A great proportion of those who advertise money to 
loan, provide that only city security will be accepted. 

As a matter of fact, there is no security in South- 
ern California so safe as that of land with sufficient 
water; for the value of such property is not lessened 
nor interfered with by panics, strikes, rioting, extended 
conflagration and many other conditions peculiar to 
city life. 

The security of city property depends largely upon 
the prevalence of good business conditions. When 
this slackens vacant houses and slow rentals result. 

The tendency of civilization is back to country life, 
and makes for the disintegration of large populations. 
The automobile is bringing about this condition more 



quickly than any other agency, as by its use the busi- 
ness man of the city may hve on a farm miles away 
from the place of his business, and may come and 
go each day by automobile, maintaining his home 
and his family amid the more healthful conditions of 
the country. 

Therefore, it seems to be an unwise policy on the 
part of those who loan large sums of money, to neglect 
the country district for the benefit of the city. If the 
money lender will assist in building up the country the 
growth of the city will be more substantial. And 
with special reference to the Antelope Valley: here is 
a region as large as the Imperial valley, and, fully as 
productive. Higher priced crops are raised here and 
more capital is required, as the products of the soil in 
a large part are those that require years of waiting 
before the orchards be.come money-makers. But 
when they do come to production on a paying basis, 
from about the fifth or sixth year onward, the pear 
and apple orchards of the higher lands of the valley 
constitute the most productive form of horticultural 
industry. And here, we venture to assert that they 
will exceed in sureness the production and profit of the 
famous orange groves of the counties of the south side 
of the mountain range. 

In the completion of the Panama Canal a com- 
paratively quick and safe method of transportation to 
the markets of Great Britain will be available for the 
famous pear crops of the valley slopes. As is the 
case with the orange industry of Southern California, 
the area capable of producing superfine pears and 
apples is limited first, by climatic conditions, secondly 
by water, and thirdly, by soil. Only the altitude in 
excess of 2,000 feet, preferably from 2,500 to 3,000 
feet for pears and above that for apples, furnishes the 
best conditions for the production of these fruits in 
Southern California. Such lands are quite as limited 
as are those of the citrus districts, so it does not seem 
that the home market will ever be seriously over- 
loaded. Especially when we consider the enormous 
growth in population in prospect for Southern Cali- 
fornia in particular, and for all of California in gen- 
eral, within the next few years — when the Panama 
Canal shall have been opened to commerce and immi- 
gration. 



We wish now to lay down the proposition, with 
all the emphasis we may put into print, that there is 
no better horticultural investment in Southern Califor- 
nia, nor in the world, than a pear or apple orchard 
at a proper location in the Antelope Valley. That 
the best location is on the south slope of the valley, 
or the north side of the Sierra Madre range, extending 
from the Elizabeth lake country to the Big rock coun- 
try (we omit consideration of the Mojave river, or 
Victor valley country, as, properly, it is not a part of 
the Antelope valley). 

Any good piece of land within these limits, at an 
altitude of 2,500 feet or higher, and with sufficient 
water — say, one acre foot per acre per annum — is 
easily worth a minimum price of $200 per acre, un- 
improved — if not too far from the railroad. 

The water system of the Palmdale Water Com- 
pany as at present planned, easily will take care of at 
least 5,000 acres surrounding Palmdale; and we 
understand this company has so outlined its operations 
as to be well within the limits of safety. However, 
the state Railroad Commission has authority to limit 
the acreage our water companies shall undertake to 
irrigate, so there is little likelihood the Hmits of safety 
will be passed. 

The Littlerock Creek Irrigation District has enough 
water with which to take care of 3,000 acres, the 
quantity of water approximating 1 inch to each 5 
acres. This is probably the best water supply of any 
of the foothill colonies — although that of Palmdale 
is abundant. 

In addition to this, the old wiseacres of the desert 
who have hauled water in barrels for years, now are 
being shown by the tenderfeet that all along plenty 
of water could have been obtained at a depth of about 
1 50 feet, and even less, and could have been raised 
to the surface from a depth of about 70 feet or less, 
in a continuous stream of a minimum of about 1 5 
inches and a mean maximum of 1 00 inches within 
an area beginning about where the distribution system 
of the Palmdale Water Company ends, and extend- 
ing thence to Littlerock easterly, and even into Kern 
county on the north. 

Slowly it is beginning to dawn upon those interested 
in the valley that it contains a vast underground lake 



of water, coming nearest to the surface in the Lan- 
caster country, and requiring pumping from a con- 
siderable depth as the mountains are approached. 

The latest and highest well to be brought in is 
situated perhaps a half mile from the first uprise of 
foothills of the Sierra Madre mountains, between 
Palmdale and Littlerock. This well is approximately 
150 feet deep, and a constant stream of 14 inches of 
water is pumped from a depth of about 70 feet. The 
expense of producing this water should vary from $ 1 
to $ I 5 per acre per annum, which is approximately 
the cost of water for orange groves on the foothill 
slopes of Los Angeles county. Pear and apple or- 
chards will give as good returns as will orange groves 
and will require about half the water, and much less 
care. Hence it seems that it is time capital were turn- 
ing its attention to the improvement of pear and apple 
orchards on the south foothill slopes of the Antelope 
valley. 

The lands that are supplied with gravity water at 
Palmdale and Littlerock cost more to buy, but far 
less for water — $6 per acre per year being the 
charge. 

One thing cannot be repeated too often — the Ante- 
lope valley is not a poor man's country. Those who 
represented otherwise in the past, gave the valley a 
black eye, so that even yet portions of it look out 
upon the world from amidst a dark circle; and por- 
tions of the world, looking back, see only that dark- 
ness — and are wary. All of which is remindful of 
the pessimist looking at the doughnut and seeing only 
the hole — and going to bed hungry. 

But here let us note the inevitable exception to the 
invariable rule — there is a class of people with intelli- 
gent persistency, and self-faith, able and willing to do 
any kind of work for the time being ; forward looking 
and strong-willed and honest, who use their own time 
in minding their own business. Members of this class 
can start anywhere without money, for they are wanted 
everywhere — the world is out nights with lanterns 
looking for them, and it finds too few. This class 
will make a success without money-capital even in the 
Antelope valley — for they have character-capital, 
which is far better than that of metal. 



But if persons with sufficient capital do not care to 
own and develope their own lands, there is nowhere 
in Los Angeles county a more profitable field for the 
money lender. The rate of interest ranges from 8 
to 1 per cent, and if the lender will first assure him- 
self that a given piece of land has sufficient water, is 
of good quality as to soil, and is rightly located as to 
altitude and climatic conditions ; and, also, if he will 
make his loan in the way of an "improvement loan" — 
that is, as building loans are made in the city — in 
other words, will assure himself that the money he is 
loaning is largely put back into improvements upon the 
place, then it will be hard to see where his investment 
is less safe than a similar loan in the city. In fact, it 
is safer, as each year of growth makes the orchards 
more valuable, while the lapse of each year in the 
city brings only depreciation of the improvements. 
The appreciation of the country land will equal that 
of the city land, so the country loan ought really to 
be the safest. 

If your nerves are worn to a ragged edge — go to 
the Antelope valley: — anywhere. 

If rheumatism persecutes you; or asthma distresses 
you ; or your lungs alarm you — go to the Antelope 
valley — either the north or south slope. 

If you want to fill cattle with pumpkins or alfalfa — 
go to the Antelope valley — "Langster" country. 

If you want to make from $150 to $800 per acre 
per year raising pears and apples, go to the Antelope 
valley — Palmdale and Littlerock. 

If you want sunshine — the brightest the sun sends 
down to man; if you want starlight from the thickest 
gathering of the heavenly lamps of night that ever 
man's httle eyes have seen assemble ; if you want moon- 
light — the most liquid and mellow that ever mocked 
the noontide's glare — go to the Antelope valley — any- 
where, but preferably to the higher slopes. 



TOMORROW 

(In the Antelope Valley) 



Over the gray 

Of yesterday 
Tomorrow's green shall grow. 

Where, dry and dead 

The grass is spread 
Shall the cooling water flow. 

And the garden of God 

So long untrod, 
And so long misunderstood, 

At last shall bloom, 

In the sweet perfume. 
Of flowering vine and wood. 

The silence old 

Of ages untold. 
Shall yield to the ringing song, 

Of the farmer's field. 

Of the orchard's yield. 
Of success that has waited long. 

And into the Past, 

Oh, acres vast — 
Gray sage and yucca tree. 

Day by day 

You shall fade away, 
To ashes and memory. 

Where was the gray 

Of yesterday, 
Tomorrow's green shall come. 

And here at last 

Shall the weary rest. 
And the wanderer find a home. 




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